Theirs but to Do and Die
by Bobadoo
Summary: One more man in the squad with a hatred for its objective. He won't complain, it's not his place but when times get bad, will he save Private Ryan? First fic, please read and review!
1. Omaha

**Chapter One: Omaha**

Patrick Holton swore under his breath as he began to wring out his sleeves. Five minutes into this thing and they were already drenched.

"When I enlisted, I thought I joined the Army not the Navy!" yelled one private.

"Yeah, well I didn't ask for this!" shouted another. These guys never did know when to shut up.

One small private stood looking over the edge. "They ain't firing on us…think they're all dead, Sarge?"

"I hope not!" Caparzo: one of the loudmouths in the company. If he had any fear, he never learned how to show it. "I've been waiting a long time to get these Krauts; don't tell me the fucking Air Force took them all out!"

"Naw, they're still alive…and saving their bullets especially for you." Caparzo began to laugh; Holton did not even crack a smile. He began to pick at the plastic surrounding his rifle. Nervous habit.

"Thirty seconds!"

"Alright, listen up!" the Lieutenant's voice fell on deaf ears, most were too out of it to pay attention. "The machine guns are going to be right on us. Get out fast!"

Holton cleared his throat. Might as well try to talk to them. "Do not stay in one place long, keep moving. No doubt their mortars are zeroed in on us." It fell silent again…except for prayers. Holton did not say one; he had prayed plenty before they left. Besides, he probably could not think of one if he tried.

"You got a smoke, Red?" Caparzo leaned over.

He managed to smile. "How you planning on lighting it, Carp?"

"I don't need it lit; I just want one in my mouth."

Holton shook his head as he grabbed one out quick. "You Italians, you're all crazy."

"Yeah, well you Germans ain't any better." Caparzo motioned to the beach.

"Wouldn't have it any other way."

"Amen." Caparzo replied as he stuck the cigarette in his mouth. The landing craft slowed down. "Here goes nothing."

The door began to open and Holton drew in his breath. A wall of bullets rushed in killing the first rows of men, including the Lieutenant.

"Shit." Holton looked around. "Everyone in the channel!" Men began to climb over into the water, which was bound to be deep.

"I can't swim!"

"You ain't bulletproof either! In the water!" Holton was a big guy, standing over six feet, and had no problem grabbing the scrawny Ranger and tossing him into the water. He grabbed his rifle and dived in head first. Bad idea. For a few seconds, he sat in the water disoriented. By the time he made it to some relative cover behind an obstacle, most of his gear and his rifle were missing. There he sat trying to catch his breath.

A familiar rifle made its way to the corner of his eye.

"Jackson!" The company sniper made his way over to Holton, diving for cover just behind him. "You seen anyone?"

"No one. I don't even know where I am."

"We're in France."

"If you say so." It was now that Jackson finally gave Holton a once over. "What happened to you?"

"Forgot my stuff on the ship." Jackson nodded as someone else came crashing down in front of them. The man did not carry a rifle but a camera instead. They watched him squirm for a few moments.

"Who the hell are you?" Holton asked. The man jumped. He did not know anyone was there.

He looked up at them. "Terry Larson! I'm reporting on the invasion!"

"Right…" Holton looked over at the pillboxes. "Think you can shoot them, Jackson?"

"Nope."

"Didn't think so." Holton sighed. "Alright, we need to get to the sea wall. Dead run, straight to it. We stop, we never get there."

Jackson nodded. "Larson, you're coming with us." The photographer looked at the two like they were crazy.

"No thanks! I'll stay here! I don't want the camera to get damaged!"

"It ain't the camera you should be worried about." Holton grabbed Larson's shirt. "Let's go!" The three ran down the beach along with a few others. They passed by several dead and wounded ones, not bothering to stop. If they did, they would never make it off the beach.

They hit the ground hard just as bullets began to kick up the sand around them.

Holton rolled over. "I think we broke the record for the fifty yard dash." He looked over at Jackson. He had pulled out his cross. "No problems?"

"Yeah. No problems." Jackson looked around at the other men lining the sea wall. "Anyone see a Captain 'round here?!"

"He's that way!" Someone pointed down the line.

Holton smiled. "Wanna go for it?"

"Do I have a choice?"

"Nope." Jackson sighed. He stood and began to run down the line with Holton and Larson in tow. They found familiar faces and crashed in the sand next to them.

"Jackson here!"

"Holton here!" Captain Miller looked over at them.

"Where's the Lieutenant?"

"Never left the boat, sir." Holton replied picking up a rifle from the sand. He'd wonder who's it was later.

"And the radio?"

"Right next to him."

"Figures." Miller whispered to himself. He began to look around. "Bring up some bangalores!"

"I thought you were dead!" Holton turned to the man he crashed next to.

He smiled. "Nah, they can't kill me. But you, Caparzo…I've never seen anyone move so fast in my life."

"What can I say…I love to swim." More men began to pile up on the sea wall as the grenades were being put into place. Holton looked over at Larson. He had the camera up and was taking pictures.

"What are you looking at?" He pointed down the beach.

"Isn't that your friend?" Holton looked in the direction he was pointing and the smirk on his face faded. Jackson had moved. He was now on the beach helping someone who had been hit.

"Jackson, what the hell are you doing?!" He watched in half horror, half amazement as Jackson managed to drag the man to cover. "Crazy bastard."

"Fire in the hole!" Someone shouted. Holton looked over at Larson, who was still taking pictures. He grabbed the man's shirt again and pulled him into the sand.

"Get down you idiot!" Larson squirmed more as sand blasted over them.

"Defilade, other side of the hole!" Men began to scramble over the sand only to meet more machine gun fire.

"Stay here!" Holton shouted as he ran over with the others. Larson could not agree more. He did not move from that spot until the shooting had ended.

Holton hit the side of the pillbox hard. Jackson ran up next to him.

"What the hell were you thinking, Jackson?" Holton asked turning to the sniper. "You want to be a hero or something?"

"That's the thing, I wasn't thinking."

Holton rolled his eyes. "Well don't do it again. I lose you, it's just me and the damn city boys."

Jackson smiled. "Oops."

"Holton, up front!" shouted Miller. Holton managed to make his way over to them without stepping on all the soldiers bunched up in front of the pillbox.

"Sir!"

"Holton, you see that defilade there?" Miller pointed down below the machine gun nests.

"Yes sir."

"Alright, wait for the covering fire, and then move these boys over there. Try to suppress them so we can get out of here." Holton nodded. "Covering fire!" The group of soldiers opened up on the nest.

Holton began to push the group of privates through. "Let's go! C'mon!" They made their way down to the small bit of defilade and began to fire on the Germans. No one hit anything, though Holton managed to knock one of the German's helmets off.

"Why don't we use grenades, Sarge?"

"Because if you hit the sandbags, it'll just end up right on top of us." Holton replied. He looked at the private. "And I am not willing to die for my country that way." The boy shut up and began to fire again.

Something ran past the group. Holton smiled.

'_They're going to get it now.' _He thought. The group's fire increased as Germans fell before them. Men that were already dead ended up with a few more bullet holes.

"Cease fire!" Holton shouted. "Cut it out, they're dead! Up the hill, let's go!" Some responded by finishing up their clips in the Germans. Holton grabbed one of them by the collar. "Move it!" He could not blame them for putting extra rounds in the enemy but he was not going to tolerate it.

Just as Holton got to the top, he saw the pillbox next to them explode into flames.

"Now we're getting somewhere." He jumped into a German trench and began to fire on the other side. Then, his rifle jammed.

"Shit." Holton began to work on it but to no avail. He climbed out of the trench in search of another. Surprisingly, there was none so Holton stood back and watched his boys take care of the rest.

Captain Miller stood off to the side, trying to talk through the small radio. He waved Holton over.

"Sergeant, you did a good job today. We're gathering up the German prisoners, I'd like you to watch over them. They're going to be behind that pillbox there." Miller pointed to the nearest one.

"Sir, I don't have a weapon."

Miller sighed. "Well, there's plenty on the beach."

"Yes sir." Holton walked down the hill onto the beach. Medics flew from one patient to the other, trying to save as many as they could until the ships got closer. Wade was one of them. He had a kind of courage that Holton knew he could never have. He thanked God everyday for people like Wade.

There was a rifle right next to his feet. Holton got down to pick it up but stopped and looked around.

Someone came up behind him. "Mighty fine battle, wasn't it?"

It was Larson.

"Yeah…sure." Bodies littered the beach, their blood collecting into rivers to fill the already red channel. Fine wasn't the word he'd use to describe it. Massacre seemed more appropriate.

He prayed to God that this would be worth it.

Okay, this is my first story. I hope it goes over well. I really hated writing the first chapter but it needed to be done. Hopefully the others are better. Please review my paper. I need advice, I'm not good at this.


	2. Red

**Chapter Two: Red**

Holton picked at what was supposed to be food. Of course, it was Army food so one could never be sure.

After a few attempts, he tossed it to the side. The whole country loved them; someone was bound to give him some decent food.

"Hey you, private! Yeah you. Come here." Holton watched as a replacement inched toward Reiben. He elbowed the sniper next to him.

"Hey Jackson, look. The Trio are at it again." Jackson looked up from his woodwork and smiled.

"This ought to be good. Wonder what bullshit he'll feed them today." He looked the private over. "Boy's rifle is twice his size. How can he carry it?"

Holton smiled. "Further proof that God exists."

Reiben, Mellish and Caparzo all wore giant grins causing the replacement shake a little.

"What's your name kid?" Mellish asked taking a drag from his cigarette.

"Wilkes. Samuel Wilkes." The boy's voice did not even sound like it had changed yet. Holton wondered how old he actually was.

"Welcome to Charlie, Wilkey." Reiben grabbed a cigar out of his pack and proceeded to light it.

"Um…it's Wilkes."

"Don't listen to him private. He likes to bug new guys." said Wade, who had gone previously ignored. He sat between the Trio and Holton and Jackson. Unlike the sergeant, Wade was still trying to eat his K rations.

Caparzo's eyes flashed. He took this as his opportunity. He nudged the New Yorker. "Yeah, ain't that right Rye-Rye?" The entire group broke out in laughter. So did Wilkes, though it was more from nerves than anything.

"Shut the hell up! One day and I can't get any peace." Reiben now stood and put his arm around Wilkes. He was a good six inches taller and more than a few pounds heavier than the replacement. The boy seemed to shrink before their eyes. "Look Wilkey. I called you over here because there are a few things you need to know before you enter this company."

"Really?"

Jackson began to carve again. "Here he goes…"

"Yeah. We are the people you need to know if you're gonna get anywhere. First off, I'm ReiBEN." He began to point around. "That's Mellish and Caparzo. Never deny them a smoke; it will be the death of you. The nice one over there is Wade. The quiet one about to cut off his thumb is Jackson, company sniper." Jackson waved his knife in their direction. "And that crazy looking one is Red."

"That's Sergeant Red to you, Private." Holton said as he, too, pulled out a cigarette.

"Never piss him off Wilkey."

"Why?" The three smiled. It was their favorite story.

Holton rubbed his face. "Aw, geez, not again."

"Pay close attention Wilkey, it could save your life." Wilkes looked at the others but received no reply from them.

"So, we come up to these hedgerows a couple days ago. Our armor is nowhere and the Lieutenant starts swearing. Suddenly, this Kraut machine gun starts firing on us-"

Holton began to pick at his rifle. "Doesn't know when to shut up, does he?"

Jackson smiled. "Just realizing this now?"

"-We're stranded with no help and then, the Lieutenant gets hit. The Sarge here gets pissed and starts shouting in German. He picks up his rifle and fires one round into the hedges, that's all he has." Reiben stopped for dramatic effect. Holton rolled his eyes.

"The shooting stops." Wilkes eyes began to widen. "We finally get through it and what would ya know, he shot the fuckin' Kraut between the eyes." The boys began to whistle and clap for their comrade.

Holton stood. "I didn't shoot him between the eyes; I shot him in the mouth, which is what I should do to you Reiben."

The New Yorker sat down and fumbled with his cigar. "That's if you could hit me."

Jackson put his knife away. "He could shoot that big mouth of yours in the dark." Reiben's reply was stopped as Wilkes came to attention. The others watched as Miller and Horvath walked over, ignoring the replacement. Miller got straight to the point.

"Can you speak French, Holton?"

He laughed. "Does Frère Jacques count?"

Miller sighed. "I'll go get another interpreter. Assemble at the beach motor pool." The men began to gather their gear.

"What are we gonna do?" Caparzo asked.

"You're going home in an American flag with a hunk of cheese stuck in your ass, Caparzo, you smartass."

"I thought you liked it in the ass." Holton shook his head. Reiben was always looking for the opportunity to bug Horvath.

"What?"

"I thought you liked it in the ass." Holton and Jackson, already done, walked over before Horvath could respond.

"So what's the story Mike?"

Private James Francis Ryan, some paratrooper from the 101st who had lost all his brothers. Their objective was to bring him back safe and sound, only problem was that the airborne had been scattered in every direction. So, they would try Neuville first.

Holton had not spoken a word since they left the motor pool. He had volunteered to be in the back, preferably so that no one would bother him. No one seemed concerned, Holton did not have the biggest mouth in the company but clearly something about Ryan had affected him.

"You want to explain the math of this to me? I mean where's the sense in risking the eight of us to save on guy?" Some of the men nodded. It was a good question. Holton did not react; he was not paying attention.

"Anybody want to answer that?"

"Reiben, think about the poor bastard's mother."

"Hey Doc, I got a mother, alright. I mean, you got a mother, Sarge has got a mother. I mean, shit, I bet even the Captain's got a mother." Reiben looked over at Miller and smiled. "Well, maybe not the Captain but the rest of us got mothers."

'Not me.' Holton thought to himself. He didn't have much of anything anymore.

"Theirs not to reason why, theirs but to do and die." Upham tried to offer an explanation that no one understood.

"La la la la la la la la la. What the fuck is that supposed to mean corporal? We're all supposed to die is that it?" Mellish already did not care much for the new translator. He and Caparzo already had their fun with him.

"Upham's talking about our duty as soldiers. We all have orders and we all have to follow them and that supersedes everything including you mothers."

"Even if you think the mission's FUBAR, sir?"

"Especially if you think the mission's FUBAR."

"Hey, how 'bout you Red?" Mellish turned to the silent follower. "What do you think?"

Holton hesitated. "Well…I think we should forget about this Ryan. Let's find a nice French village and treat ourselves to some vacation time with all you can drink wine." Everyone began to smile.

"I like Red's idea. Can we go with that Captain?" Caparzo asked.

"Not unless you like sharing with the Germans."

Upham looked confused. "Why do you call him Red?"

"'Cause that's what will be squirting out of you if you piss him off." Reiben replied. The corporal gulped. "Now let me tell you something about Red here. We come up to this group of hedgerows…"

Holton did not even do anything to stop him. He wasn't paying attention again.

It was true, what they said about his nickname. He told them that himself. None of them actually knew the true story behind it though. Most that did were already dead.

_Holton stood at attention trying hard to ignore the water dripping from his helmet. It had been down pouring not that long ago. He could already feel himself sinking in the mud. It had been four weeks since basic training began and they had yet to see sunshine._

"_Private Holton!" The company CO shouted. "Step forward!" The men began to straighten as he walked over. He made no comment, which meant something was distracting him. _

_Holton stepped forward as ordered, though he had no idea why he was being singled out like this. He was the last person in the company that would do anything wrong, and everyone knew it. Some of the men began look at each other. _

"_You are still at attention!" The CO stopped right before Holton, mere inches from his face. "Tell me, Private, do you know the meaning of integrity?"_

"_Would you like the definition, sir?" A couple guys began to chuckle._

"_Attention! Do not breathe, do not blink, do not laugh! Got it?"_

"_Sir, yes, sir!" The company shouted in unison, though some still had smirks on their faces._

_The CO turned back to Holton. "No, Private, I do not need the definition, I already know it. I'm asking you if you know it."_

"_Yes, sir, I know the definition." _

"_Then you would agree when I say to have integrity, one has to be honest." _

"_Yes sir." _

"_Then tell, Private, why did you lie?" Holton did not respond for a second. He had no idea what the man was talking about. Murmurs began again but, this time, went ignored._

"_What do you mean, sir?"_

"_Is it true that you said you were an American citizen when you enlisted?" The murmurs got louder._

"_Yes sir. That's because I am."_

"_That is where you would be wrong, Private." The CO began to pace in front of the company. "While you may be considered an American citizen, are you not also a citizen of Germany?" It fell silent. Holton could feel the eyes of everyone upon him._

"_I did not think that would matter, sir." Many began to whisper again. Holton's closest friends, though, remained silent._

"_Well it does! In case you hadn't noticed, we happen to be at war with them!" Holton rolled his eyes. This is why he did not mention it before, so he would not have to put up with this bullshit. _

"_I know that, sir. That's why I signed up, to defend my country." The anger was rising in his voice. _

"_Tell me, Private, is America your country?" Holton's eyes narrowed as the CO got closer and his fists clenched tighter. The men around him began to back off slightly._

_The XO took this as the opportunity to try and step in. "Captain, maybe you should take this-″ He was silenced as the CO put up his hand._

"_How did you feel when the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor, huh? Did you cheer when you heard of all the American dead?" _

"_No sir." He growled. _

_Holton's response fell on deaf ears. "Does your Kraut father salute Hitler in his sleep?" The Captain went too far. _

_Holton tackled the company CO to the ground. He was taller than the Captain and had the advantage of surprise._

"_Don't you fucking talk about my father like that!" Holton began to punch the Captain again and again, beating him into the mud. "He ain't no fucking Kraut! He's a better man then you'll ever be!" The company did not react at first out of sheer surprise. After a moment, they all ran over to Holton and began to drag him off the Captain. It took nearly five men to pull him away. _

"_You talk about my father again and I'll kill you!" Holton shouted, not caring anymore. "I'll fucking kill you!"_

So, I hope the story is going okay for you. I just decided to put these three chapters in. Just thought I'd put in some background for Patrick to make him more real. Hope that worked for you.


	3. Thunderstorm

**Chapter Three: Thunderstorm**

"Thunder!"

"Flash!"

When the squad reached Neuville, it was raining. Holton swore again. He was sick of being wet all the time.

"No such thing as sunshine in Europe, is there?" Mellish commented as he leaned against a bombed out building.

"There was plenty in Italy." Holton said as he listened to the German on the loudspeaker. His accent was horrible and so was his English.

"There's plenty in the Pacific, too." Horvath said. "Anyone feel like going over there?"

The loudspeaker went off. "The Statue of Liberty is kaput!" The group began to laugh.

"What and miss all this?" Caparzo asked. "No thanks."

Miller walked over. "Caparzo and Reiben up front. We're going to the other side. They might know where Ryan is." The group followed the airborne boys silently around the city, checking every building for the enemy.

"I don't like this." Holton said walking over to Jackson. "This place is too perfect for you."

"Yep." Jackson whispered. "Bombed out buildings like this are safe havens for snipers. Better watch out."

"I would except you never see the one that gets you."

"True."

Upham walked up to the two as they looked over one of the buildings. "Do you guys know where the Captain is from? Or what he did?"

"Planning on writing his biography, Corporal?" Holton said, squinting at one of the windows.

"Well, no…I'm just wondering."

"You heard about the three hundred dollars yet?" Jackson stood.

"Yeah." The two men laughed.

"He's from America last I checked." Holton said as they began to move again. "Anything else you need to get from him. Don't listen to the bullshit from the others guys."

"Okay…so, uh…where are you from Sergeant?"

Jackson began to laugh again. "Guy just won't shut up." He moved ahead to check out other buildings.

"Sorry." Upham said looking down.

"It's okay Corporal. There are no pools on me, I'm fine with it."

Reiben walked up to them. "How do you know?"

"What the hell would the pool be on?"

"Whether or not that girl of yours is going to stick around." Holton always did regret showing the guys that picture of her. The girl's name was Amanda and he was determined to marry her when he got back. Only problem was that her father was not the biggest fan of him, or of his family period.

"Because, you know she looks a lot like a girl I met in New York." Holton pushed Reiben away.

"Shut up Rye-Rye." He let Mellish and Caparzo have their fun with that for a while.

"I'm from Minnesota." Holton said turning to Upham. "Live on a farm south of Hastings."

Upham smiled. He was glad someone would speak to him. "Where did you learn to speak German?"

"My parents taught me. They're from Germany."

"Oh…" Upham fell silent. He did not want to press the subject any further. Holton did not stop him. That was how most men reacted.

They came up to a half destroyed wall and ducked behind it. There was a French family in the house nearby. Upham went to work trying to find out where the Germans were while the others sat and looked around. The family did not cooperate. They wanted their children taken to safety. Caparzo grabbed the girl. Everyone shouted at him to stop.

Holton, though, could not stop looking at the tower that loomed nearby. He could not see anything but that did not mean no one was there.

"Hey Jackson." He tugged at the sniper's clothing. "You don't think…"

Miller grabbed the little girl and tried to put her back.

"Shit." Jackson whispered. Before he could say anything, Caparzo hit the ground.

"Cover!" Someone shouted. All the men began to move behind various objects. Holton moved towards the car when the saw the French girl run off toward her house.

"Girl, no!" Holton dropped his rifle and grabbed the girl. They hit against a wall that was not destroyed. It was a bad spot. The only thing protecting them was a two foot long piece of wall that jutted out from the building. The sniper shot and caught a piece of his clothing.

"Captain!" Holton shouted. "We might have a situation here!" Another bullet bounced off the wall. The girl screamed and clung tighter to him.

"Just stay still Holton!"

Holton rolled his eyes. "Well no sh-″ He looked at the girl. "-shoot."

Jackson crawled around the car and positioned himself, whispering prayers along the way. He knew Holton was not in a good position and could get hit at anytime.

Holton watched as Caparzo offered his letter to Mellish.

"Hey Carpy, put that away!" He shouted. "No one is going to be reading that anytime soon." He had moved too much. Another bullet was sent their way.

"Geez…sorry kid." He looked down at the girl again. Her face was buried in his shirt. "I promise I won't move again."

A shot rang out and all was quiet for a moment.

"All clear!" Miller shouted.

Holton sighed and stood. "Thank God. Now let's take you to your…uh, somewhat house." He handed the girl off to her father, whom she promptly slapped.

The group gathered around Caparzo. Holton jogged over and looked in. Caparzo was not moving.

"Damn…" he whispered. Wade covered the body with a blanket and stood. He held the letter in his hand.

"Um…here's your rifle Sergeant." Upham said walking over. Holton took it.

"Thanks."

Jackson looked over. "How's your arm?"

Holton smiled slightly. "My clothes always were baggy." He poked a finger through the hole. "Didn't even skin me."

The group continued through the streets of Neuville. No longer did they talk about pools or tell jokes; the danger was real now so they stayed silent.

They entered an open courtyard where they would wait for the other paratroopers.

"The French sure live in weird places." Holton absently commented as he looked around.

One of the paratroopers decided to take a seat. No one paid him any attention; most were looking the other direction.

Then they heard the wall collapse.

The group turned around to see some Germans looking just as surprised as they were. Everyone lifted their rifles and began to shout. A combination of German and English were tossed back and forth getting them nowhere.

Someone opened fired and both parties collapsed. When Holton looked up, the Germans were dead.

"Shit." Holton said looking up. All he saw was smoking submachine guns. "That's not cutting it close."

One of the men walked down. "Fred Hamil, Pathfinders." He said extending a hand to Miller.

"John Miller, thank you."

Hamil led them to an open street populated by airborne troops. They stared at their infantry counterparts.

"Guess you're not our relief." One commented. No one bothered to respond.

The men gathered in the center of the street and pulled out cigarettes. A soldier's only comfort, they refused to go anywhere without them.

They watched as a man came jogging over. It was Ryan, the man they had been looking for.

"Told you he was an asshole." Reiben said. Holton remained silent but he agreed. He could feel anger boiling up again just like before Neuville. He hated this mission down to its very core and wanted to get it over with.

Miller sat down with the private. "Ryan, I'm sorry to tell you this but your brothers are dead." The paratrooper looked at him for a second.

"Really sir?"

"Yes…I'm sorry." Ryan began to cry.

Expressions on the men's faces soften a little. They did feel bad for the man; he had lost all of his brothers. Holton, on the other hand, just became angrier. He clenched his fists together to keep himself from losing it.

"They were killed in combat." Ryan looked up at Miller in disbelief.

"But, sir, my brothers are still in grammar school." The group straightened up.

"You are James Francis Ryan from Iowa."

"No, James Fredrick Ryan, Minnesota."

Holton threw down his cigarette. "Fuck!" Everyone watched as he walked a few paces away. He never was angry nor did he complain. The fact that this bothered him started to worry some.

Holton stared at the ceiling listening to the canon fire outside. Most of the men had gone to sleep. Jackson had been the first. He still could not figure out how the man could do it after seeing all that he had.

He heard someone move. Upham was in the next pew, maybe it was him.

"Sergeant?" he whispered.

Holton sighed. "Yes Upham?"

"Is everything okay?"

"Everything's fine." He said quickly, instantly on the defensive.

"You sure, because earlier today-″

"Upham."

"Yes?"

"Go to sleep." No one spoke after that. Holton was not in the mood to talk about it and nothing could ever be pried from him.

He reached for his helmet and pulled out a picture he kept inside. It was Amanda. This picture was the most famous one in the company. Men always asked if they could look at it.

It was hard to see in the dark but he could still make out her face.

The canon fire sounded just like thunder. He always sat on the front porch during a thunderstorm and watched as it passed over. There was one that he would never forget and it had nothing to do with a storm.

_Patrick Holton stood on the porch steps watching the lightning streak across the sky. It had stopped raining a few minutes before but threatened to rain again._

_His sister, Christine, sat on the railing. Her dress almost touched the hedges below. _

"_You're gonna fall over." He said looking at her._

"_No I won't." _

"_Well, I hope you fall over…right into that mud puddle over there." _

_Christine smiled. "Such a nice brother I have."_

_It was early spring. The crops were not that high yet so they could see a fair distance down the road when the lightning struck. _

_Patrick frowned. "Did you see that?"_

"_See what?" He pointed down the road. The lightning struck again and a clear outline of a person running down the road appeared._

"_Chris, go get Charlie."_

"_But I-″_

"_Now Christine!" She nearly fell off the railing as she ran inside the house. Patrick jogged to the end of the street and watched the person run toward him. Car lights loomed in the distance._

_As the person got closer, he realized who it was._

"_Amanda?" Patrick ran over to her. She hugged him close and cried into his shoulder. "What is it?" Amanda said nothing but looked up at him. Even in the dark, he could see the blood on her face._

"_Oh shit." He looked at the approaching truck. "Get inside." Amanda ran for the house but stopped at the porch. She watched as Patrick stood in front of the slowing truck. _

_The door swung open. Her father, drunk as usual, stepped out and walked toward the boy._

"_I'm not looking to get in a fight with you Pat." He said stumbling slightly. "I just want my daughter back."_

"_You're not getting her back, not after what you did to her."_

"_Ain't you ever heard of discipline?"_

"_Ever heard of battery?"_

_The man frowned. "I don't care what you call it. That little bitch deserved it. Now step aside and let me take her home." _

_Patrick did not move. He, instead, through a punch at the man's jaw. It was a direct hit but Patrick was not very strong. He would not go to basic training for another couple weeks. Amanda's father easily knocked Patrick to the ground with one hit. He heard Amanda scream._

_As Patrick tried to get up, he found a pistol pointed at him. _

"_Now, I'm not going to say this again…"_

"_Put it down, Frank!" A thick, German accent sounded off from the porch. Patrick looked over to see both his father and his brother pointing rifles at the trespasser. Both were decent shots and could drop the man in a second._

"_Is that you Hans, or Fritz, or whatever the hell your name is?"_

"_Get off my property you drunk!"_

"_And what if I refuse?" A shot rang out and the man dropped. Amanda screamed again._

_Patrick looked at him again. The man was only shot in the leg. He took this as opportunity to get back to the porch. _

_Frank began to laugh. "Avenging your Kraut friends I see." Her father was a Great War veteran and had not recovered completely. He stood and hobbled to the truck. "Once a Kraut, always a Kraut." Another bullet skidded off the hood of the truck._

_Frank, then, drove away. He knew better than to mess with the two of them though there was no doubt he would get the sheriff involved again._

_Patrick looked at his father. "I'm sorry you had to be involved."_

"_It is okay. That Scheißkopf deserved it anyway." Patrick managed a smile as did the other family members though Christine rolled her eyes. "There is an extra bed in Christine's room. You may stay there." Their father said looking at Amanda. He then walked inside followed by the others._

_Patrick wrapped his arm around Amanda. "C'mon. Let's get you cleaned up."_

Amanda was now the only person at home with his father. Christine was a nurse stationed in England right now and his brothers were…well, they were somewhere. He did not want to think about that right now.

Holton kissed the picture and placed it back inside his helmet. He closed his eyes and waited for a sleep that would not come.

Hope that flashback did not seem too random. I wanted something else with Amanda in it so she did not just randomly appear in the story. I hoped that this would hint at what the Holton family has put up with since coming to America.


	4. Rally

**Chapter Four: Rally**

They walked in silence, their path lit by explosions in the distance. Shadows began to take human shape and paranoia set in. Holton nearly fired his rifle several times.

When the sun rose, the squad breathed a sigh of relief. It was now Holton got a good look at the men in front of him.

There were only seven.

His memory flashed back to Caparzo's lifeless body lying in the street waiting for some German to come by and search it. Holton hated leaving him there but they could not bring him with. The Army was breaking through. They would pick him up…maybe. He could not imagine how his parents would feel, not having a body to bury.

Caparzo would not have been dead if it was not for this mission, if it was not for Ryan. His hatred for the mission had grown continually and now that someone was dead, he could not take it.

Hatred was the enemy, he had been taught that. Never get emotional, it could get you killed.

Holton could not help it though. Not after what happened to them. Not after his brothers-

Holton locked eyes with a dead body. He was so distracted that he nearly stepped on it. The body just looked at him, a half smile etched on his face. He almost seemed happy that Holton was there.

"Geez…what the hell is this?" Mellish asked walking through the heap of metal up front.

"I think it's a glider." Holton calmly replied as he walked under it. No matter how angry he was, he had to stay calm on the outside. It was another lesson that had been pounded into him during basic. He got away with it once in Neuville, but that was all. Any other complaints would have to go to his congressman, or so they said.

"The hell's a glider?"

"Basically… a plane that's supposed to crash."

"Ha! I'd rather jump out of a plane with…holy shit." The cigarette dropped out of Mellish's mouth. The squad had stumbled into a field of wounded paratroopers. Each one cried out as they saw a new medic.

"See what you can do Wade." Miller said looking over the scene, seemingly untouched by it.

"It ain't gonna be much." Reiben commented throwing the BAR over his shoulder.

Holton kneeled by a group of paratroopers. "Anyone need a light?" Several hands went up.

"So what's the situation Sergeant?" asked one of the men.

"It's getting there."

"Getting where?"

"Exactly."

"So the infantry is just as lost as we are…perfect." Holton smiled slightly and so did the others. He liked this small talk with the paratroopers; it helped distract him from all his troubles.

Wade walked over to the paratrooper Holton was talking to and began to work on him. The boy had taken a nasty hit in the side, from a mortar no doubt.

"So, what's your name kid?" Holton asked pulling out a cigarette.

"Michael Timmons and I'm not a kid."

He smiled. "You old enough to buy liquor?"

"Well…no."

"Then you're still a kid." He paused taking a drag from the cigarette. "Where are you from?"

"Omaha, Nebraska." Timmons cringed slightly as Wade examined his side.

"Omaha, huh? I just came from Omaha beach. It was hell out there." Holton smiled at his idiotic conversation. But…whatever works. "Is Nebraska ever like that?"

Timmons thought a moment. "Sometimes…especially after football games."

"Yeah, I know what that's like." Holton offered his hand. "Patrick Holton. Hastings, Minnesota."

Timmons took it. "A fellow farm boy at last." The two laughed a little but Holton stopped when he met Wade's eyes. They motioned him to stand.

Holton pat Timmons on the back. "You take care of yourself kid."

"Yeah, you too."

Holton and Wade stepped away from the scene. "How bad is it, Doc?"

"How long is it going to take the infantry to break through?"

"I dunno…a couple days I guess."

"He does not have a couple days." Wade said wiping off his blood stained hands. "He needs a miracle."

Holton sighed. "We all need a miracle."

Wade went back to work while Holton wandered off. He found a couple boxes and sat down on one, flicking the rest of his cigarette aside.

He wished Wade had not told him that. There seemed to be no point except to depress him further. The poor boy did not seem a day over eighteen, none of them did.

Holton took off his helmet and ran his hand through the hair beneath. It was then he noticed the column of men walking by. They were German POWs captured by the airborne. He stared at them as they marched close, wondering if he'd see a familiar face.

Holton pictured himself in one of those uniforms. He seemed the perfect soldier. The German people classified others like him Aryans. Blonde hair, blue eyes…the superior race. He never called himself 'superior.' Couldn't even multiply right.

He wondered what they thought of him. Holton never thought that one could 'look' German but maybe he did. Maybe that was why many of the POWs stared only at him.

It sent a chill up his spine, the thought of being a Nazi.

Holton's thoughts were interrupted when Jackson sat across from him.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

Jackson shook the bag. "Dog tags."

"Looking for that paratrooper of ours." Reiben said sitting down. "Care to join us?"

Holton sighed and grabbed some tags from the bag. Mellish sat down and together the four of them went through it.

There were so many tags, each belonging to one of the covered bodies behind them.

There were Christensons, Hansons and Coopers.

Catholics, Jews, Baptists and Greek Orthodox.

Names from Italy, France, Russia and Ireland.

None of them were James Francis Ryan from Iowa, much to Holton's disappointment.

Mellish stuck a new cigarette in his mouth. "I got a straight, how 'bout you guys?"

Jackson shook his head but decided to play along. "I got shit here; I got all guys from New York."

"Ha ha, that's very funny Jackson." Reiben said shifting his tags around. "Full house, let's see if you can beat that."

Holton smiled. "Gin." The three stared at him a moment but then began to laugh.

"Alright, Red wins." Mellish said.

"Wait, why does Red get to win?"

"Because you're from New York." Holton and Jackson began to laugh harder. It was then another hand reached into the pile. Miller began to sift through some of the tags, not caring about what the men discussed.

"Hey, I think I got a winner." Jackson said holding up one of the tags. "Ryan.'" Holton looked up. This might be him. The mission would finally be over. He did not care what God would think but he asked him to please make this Ryan.

"Lemme see that." Mellish said grabbing the dog tag. "You know what, you're a genius. You really are. R-I-E-N-N-E. That's Rienne and that's French."

Guess God was not in the mood to answer a prayer like that.

"You know what that means?"

"It means nothing."

"Hang on, I got an idea." Holton grabbed the tag. "Stick a bullet hole right here in the middle. No one will know the difference." The men nodded in agreement.

"What happens when they check the serial number sergeant?" Miller asked dropping some tags onto the pile.

"I didn't say it was a _good _idea, sir."

Reiben took a drag from his cigar. "Straight flush."

"You're cheating." Mellish said. "You've been looking at my tags."

Holton smiled again. "Blackjack."

"Let me guess, he wins because I'm from New York."

Mellish began to laugh. "Now you're getting it."

"What the hell are you guys doing?" Wade asked storming up to them. The entire squad at this point had gathered around the 'poker game.'

He began to push the tags back into the bag. "The whole goddamn airborne is watching. These aren't poker chips."

"Sorry Wade." Jackson said. "We didn't mean it like that."

"What if Caparzo's tags had been in here, huh? What would you think of it then?" Holton bowed his head as did the others. They were too ashamed to reply. Wade had a point. These were not poker chips. They are what is left of dead soldiers, just like the ones from the beach that he had mourned before. Now he played around with their things without even a care. War certainly had changed him.

Miller put the rest of the tags down. "He's not in here anyway." He looked at the airborne men walking by. "Maybe we should just call out his name, huh? Wander around like Hansel and Gretel. He's bound to hear us sometime. Ryan!"

The squad watched as the Captain walked towards the airborne calling out the private's name.

"I think he's lost it." Reiben commented staring in disbelief.

Horvath smacked him in the head. "Don't talk about the Captain like that."

Holton stood up and walked toward Miller. "Sir, I don't think that's going to-″

He watched as one paratrooper reacted to the Captain's ranting. He turned to another one. "Hey, doesn't Michaelson pal around with a Ryan?"

"Yeah, I think so."

"Well bring him up here."

While the paratrooper was gone, Miller turned to Holton and smiled.

Holton frowned. "You're starting to scare me, sir."

The squad came up behind the two and watched as another paratrooper ran up. He was bleeding from the ear.

"You're gonna have to speak up, sir. A grenade went off right next to his ear."

Miller nodded. "Do you know a Ryan?!"

"Who?"

"Do you know a James Francis Ryan?!"

Michaelson shook his head. "No, James FRANCIS Ryan."

"Some get something to write on." Upham stepped forward. "Write this down. James Francis Ryan, question mark. Iowa, question mark. Do you know him? Does he know him?"

Upham held up the small piece of paper.

Michaelson nodded. "Sure I know him, sir! We missed our drop zone by about twenty miles. Came here and ran into a Colonel taking guys to…Ramelle. That's the last I've seen of him, sir!"

"Thank you!" Miller turned away. "Assemble on me." He took out a map of the area.

"Ramelle is on the Merderet River, just to the southwest of here."

"What makes it so important, sir?" Holton asked.

"Our target has always been Cherbourg. We can't push on Paris until we take a deep water port and Rommel knows that. He's gonna try to get his armor across the Merderet River anywhere he can which makes this city prime real estate."

Reiben tossed his cigar. "So, we are going to walk into this town with German tanks breathing down our necks and no air support."

"That's the plan."

"FUBAR." Others murmured in agreement.

"I looked in the German dictionary." Upham said. "FUBAR is not in there."

Holton smiled. "That's because it's not German."

"It's not?"

"Nope. It's a New York term."

"You guys got a problem with New Yorkers now?" Reiben asked. The men just laughed, all except Miller and Horvath.

"Let's go."

* * *

I learned how to put this line in! Yay me! This should make a few things easier. No flashback on this one, it's a strict talkie. Hope I lived up to your expectations. Thanks for the reviews!!!! 


	5. Letters

**Author's Note: **Seeing as how I only know a few German words every now and then (I speak Spanish), the quotations in italics are supposed to be German. Hope that doesn't ruin it for you.

Thanks to everyone who reviewed. You guys gave me a major self esteem boost. Give yourselves a pat on the back!

**Chapter Five: Letters**

Holton kneeled in the grass pointing his rifle toward the tree line. Miller and Horvath had been gone a long time but there had been no shooting so he had to assume everything was okay.

He looked over at the dead paratroopers Wade had pointed out. The squad had nearly stepped on them. They had not been paying attention since it seemed like no one was around for miles. All there was were hills, trees and cows… It reminded him of home.

Home. Holton wondered if he'd ever see it again.

Reiben walked over to him. "Think one of them is Ryan?"

"You really think we're that lucky?"

"Me, yes. You, not so much."

"So what does that leave us with?"

"Not a chance in hell."

Holton smiled. "Good guess. The guys are 82nd."

"We should have just left you on the beach. Probably would have found him by now."

Holton did not respond. He thought about how much better things would have been if they had left him behind.

Miller and Horvath returned. The squad gathered around them.

"We've got an abandoned radar sight over there." Horvath said. "Looks like there's an MG42."

Upham sighed. "Jesus… is that what got those guys?" Miller nodded.

"I don't know how fast the rest of you Betties are but I'm thinking we detour this way quick and quiet, the Krauts will never even know we were here." Reiben said looking at Miller. "So what I'm saying is why don't we just go around the thing?"

"I hear what you're saying but we can't go around it." Miller replied. He began to take off some of his gear.

Jackson leaned forward on his rifle. "I'm with Reiben on this one, sir. I mean, we left those 88s."

"For the Air Force. The Air Force isn't going to spend ordinance on one machine gun."

"We can still skip it and accomplish our mission." Mellish said. "I mean, this isn't our mission, right, sir?"

"Oh, that's what you want to do, Mellish? You just want to leave it here so they can ambush the next company that comes along?"

"No, sir, that's not what I'm saying. I'm saying it seems like an unnecessary risk given our objective, sir."

"Our objective is to win the war."

Holton had thought the situation through and decided to speak up. "Sir, I've got to agree with these guys. There's only eight of us and we're in the middle of what is still enemy territory. If someone gets hit, they are not getting back." The squad watched Miller, waiting for an answer.

He was silent for a moment. "Let's move." After an aggravated sigh, the rest followed.

The squad moved up slowly behind the tree line. They watched the machine gun from the cover of a hill. The radar sight looked more or less like a giant billboard to Holton. It was surrounded by dead cows. The end results of a bored German's target practice.

There appeared to be three or four Germans in the nest. They sat there smoking and telling jokes to one another completely unaware they were being watched. They almost appeared normal except they were the enemy and could not be.

"Three runners with suppressing fire. " Miller said. "Mellish, you hook on the right; I'll go up the middle. Who's going left?" No one answered. Their silent objection said all.

"Who's going left?" Nothing was going to stop him.

Jackson sighed. "I'll do it. I'll go left."

"Good. Upham, switch off with Jackson and you linger in the rear."

"Yes sir." Upham said giving his rifle to Jackson. Everyone began to take off their gear. Extra weight made you slow.

"Clips and ammo where you can reach it and extra grenades for the base runners." Holton gave some of his grenades to Mellish.

Miller took off. Guess that was the 'go' signal.

Wade started running off until he was pulled down by Holton.

"You're staying here Wade!" He shouted. "No way are we losing our medic to this bullshit." Holton got up and ran in Jackson's direction. He began to fire his rifle though he wasn't sure what difference it made.

Someone tossed a grenade into the nest. It was tossed right back.

Holton slid behind a dead cow. Jackson was already hiding behind it.

"Just like Omaha, huh?" Holton said loading his rifle.

"Yeah." Jackson replied. "Except with cows."

Holton managed to smile. "Alright, I'll draw fire from the right. You go left." He waited a moment. "It's the hand that makes an 'L.'"

"Shut up, Red." Jackson said smiling.

"Okay…" Holton moved to the right and stood. He began to fire on the machine gun. "Go!" He did not have to say it twice. Jackson was gone. He managed to find a ditch that was in grenade range of the nest.

Holton's rifle clicked. He was out of rounds. Before he could reload, he saw the bullets kicking up dirt in front of him.

"Oh shit…" Holton tried to get down but not fast enough. One bullet hit him square in the helmet, knocking it off his head and him to the ground. Everything went black for a few seconds.

When Holton came to, he was staring at the sky. For one moment, he thought he was back home, outside with his little sister pointing out what shapes the clouds made. Their father was working the fields nearby along with his brothers. Home never felt so good.

Except this was not home, his family was not there and that noise was not his father's tractor. It was the machine gun that nearly took his life.

Holton looked around. His helmet was a few feet behind him. He tried to grab it only to have it shot away.

"Fine then, you can keep it." Holton moved back to cover and tried to sit up. He saw a grenade blow up right over the nest. It should have been over but the machine gun kept firing. What were they shooting at?

A small figure was running over the field in his direction. It was their medic coming to Holton's rescue.

"Wade, no!" It was too late. Wade collapsed to the ground as bullets tore through him.

"Fuck!" Holton got up and ran toward Wade. He did not care anymore.

He slid down in front of Wade placing his body between the medic and the machine gun. Only it was not firing now. He did not notice.

"Oh geez…" Wade had several holes in him and was already pale. "Captain! Captain!" It was the only thing that Holton could think of shouting. He could not shout medic, they did not have another one.

"You okay Holton?" Wade asked.

"Me? Yeah…yeah I'm fine."

"Well, that's good."

Jackson was the first person to arrive. He had dropped his rifle halfway there when he saw who was hit.

"Oh shit." Jackson knelt down and held Wade's head up as the rest of the squad came over. They all sat down and tried to help as best they could.

"Get some sulfa on those wounds." Miller said. "Upham, grab the stuff and get up here!"

"Get the morphine out of the extra medical kit!" shouted Horvath.

"Tell us what to do here, Wade." Holton said as he ripped open the medic's shirt. "You know how stupid we are."

"Someone put my legs up."

"I got it Wade." Horvath said putting Wade's legs on his own. He also injected the medic with some morphine he had on him.

Upham arrived with the extra supplies.

"What did you do, walk here?" Mellish asked yanking the bag away from Upham and spilling its contents. They began to frantically pour sulfa powder on the wounds and wipe away the blood with bandages or their sleeves. The bleeding would not stop even when they applied pressure. It all seemed hopeless but they could not give up.

"How is it?" Wade asked. "Which is worse?" Jackson grabbed his hand and moved it over the wound.

"This one right here. We've got some pressure on it."

"Oh God! It's my liver!"

"Get some more pressure on it!" shouted Miller. They all placed their hands on his abdomen in attempts to stop the bleeding.

"What can we do Wade?" Upham asked as he nervously hovered above the group.

"I could…I could use some more morphine." The squad remained silent. They all knew what that meant.

"Give it to him." Miller said. Horvath put another one in his leg. They all watched helplessly as their friend began to slip away.

"I wanna go home…I wanna go home…" Wade began to murmur. "Mama? Mama. Mama… Mama…" He stopped speaking, he stopped breathing. Wade was gone.

Miller grabbed the letter out of Wade's pocket and put them into his own. He then took one of the dog tags around his neck. Holton thought about the bag back at the rally point. One of them could have been his too.

Disgusted with himself, Holton looked away toward the nest. Reiben was over there beating up a survivor.

Rifle still in hand, he stood up and ran over to the two. The German sat on the ground with his hands held high. His head was bleeding where Reiben's BAR had landed.

"Where'd you find this piece of shit?" Holton asked grabbing the German by the jacket.

"Cowering behind his dead buddies there." Reiben replied helping lift the prisoner up. "Think he was working this gun here?"

"We're about to find out." He looked at the prisoner. "_Were you working the machine gun?" _Holton started out calm at first, hoping to get an answer.

_"Please don't shoot me." _The German began to mumble. _"Please don't shoot."_

_"Were you working the machine gun?" _Holton asked again, the irritation rising in his voice.

_"Don't shoot…Don't shoot…" _

Holton grabbed the German by the collar and yanked him up. _"Did you shoot the fucking gun?!"_

The German fell silent for a moment. The two stared at each other as Jackson and Mellish came up behind them.

_"No…no, I didn't."_

_"Sure, blame it on your comrades!" _Holton shouted tossing the German to the ground. _"We can't do anything about them anyway!" _He shoved the barrel of his rifle right in front of the man's face.

"_You know who you shot? He was a medic, a fucking medic you son of a bitch!" _

_"I didn't know…I didn't, I swear." _The German replied, his voice becoming shakier with every moment that passed with the rifle in front of his face.

_"You telling me you didn't see that red cross plastered on his helmet?!"_

_"No, I saw nothing!"_

_"Quit lying!"_

"Not yet." Miller arrived just in time. The trigger on his rifle was pulled halfway back. "Make him dig Wade's grave…the paratroopers' too."

Holton brought his rifle up filled with disgust for not being able to kill the man.

"Check them for Intel."

"Sir…sir, you can't do this." Upham came forward having watched the whole ordeal. "Sir, it's not right. He's a prisoner."

Miller snapped on the corporal. "Then you can help him dig the graves."

For the first time, Holton realized his head was killing him. Everything began to spin which forced him sit. He stared at the ground for a long time not thinking, not feeling, just repeating the same word over and over again: shit.

"Hey Sarge, I found this." Reiben said walking over to Holton. "It's all in German; I can't read any of it."

Holton took the paper and glanced over it. He had seen it before.

"Volksdeutsche." He whispered.

"What?"

Holton did not reply this time.

_Patrick, Charlie and their oldest brother, Michael, stared at the envelope on the couch. It was addressed to their father…from Germany._

_"You don't think one of our relatives could have…?" Patrick began to ask not completely believing the possibility._

_"Nah, there's no name on it. And see that stamp mark?" Michael pointed to the upper right corner of the envelope. "It's a government letter."_

_"How the hell do you know?" Charlie asked._

_"I just do."_

_"Well, what makes you so smart?"_

_Patrick interrupted his brothers before they got into another argument. "What would the government want with dad?"_

_"Tax evasion?" Charlie suggested. The two just ignored him._

_"I don't know." Michael replied. _

_"Who's the smartass now?"_

_"Shut the hell up, Charlie." Patrick said standing up. The other two stood as well. Michael and Patrick were around the same height standing at 6' 4", but Charlie was just under six feet. What he lacked in height, though, he made up for in muscle and annoyance._

_The three brothers walked into the kitchen where their father sat reading the morning paper. Christine stood at the sink doing dishes._

_"What was in the mail?" _

_"Just this." Michael put the letter down on the table. Their father looked over from his paper for only a second._

_"Open it."_

_Michael did as told and pulled a single sheet of paper from the envelope. He began to read it._

_"To Sergeant Nimholtz, grand veteran of the Germany army of the Great War. The loss of such a war devastates a country. The need to find a better place is understandable. None could have asked anything more from you after such profound leadership and dedication to your country. That is why you were rewarded our highest honor." Michael stopped and looked at his father._

_"Get to the point." The newspaper said._

_"Uh…" He skipped down to the bottom of the letter. "Germany, though, has been rebuilt. Our great leader Adolf Hitler has led us out of the darkness…request your return to the Fatherland to strengthen the Aryan nation." At this point, Christine stopped cleaning the dishes and looked to their father for a response._

_He turned the page of the newspaper. "Fuck Hitler." The boys smiled while their sister rolled her eyes at her father's language._

_"He's not even German." He paused. "Go burn that letter, Michael." _

_Michael nodded and left the room with Charlie. Patrick did not leave yet._

_"What was the 'highest honor?'" He asked. His father lowered the paper for the first time. He had blue eyes just like his children and his hair, now gray, was once blonde. Christine was the only one who took after their mother with brown hair._

_"There is farm work to tend to."_

_Patrick stood silent for a moment. "Yes sir."_

* * *

Okay, I really hated writing this chapter. It gave me issues. I hope you guys still like it! 

Alright, I have something to add. Patrick Holton's real last name is Nimholtz but his father changed it when he moved to America so he could sound more American. That's why he has an Irish name, to sound more American. Or, at least, less German.

Oh, and though Holton is from Minnesota, he has never met James Fredrick Ryan in his life. Just thought I'd clarify that for you people.


	6. Family Ties

**Author's note: **This chapter has random flashbacks...just wanted to warn you guys. Yeah, I update rather quickly (Finally got internet. Yay!) Fanfiction writing is all I do (even though I should be doing my schoolwork...oops). Hope you enjoy!!!!

**

* * *

**

**Chapter Six: Family Ties**

Holton watched the German digging graves from a distance. He was still struggling with a headache. The cigarette he was smoking was not helping much but he did not care.

He watched every movement the prisoner made. Upham would try to help from time to time only to be pushed back by Jackson. Holton could not blame Upham too much. He had never been in combat and still believed that the rules were upheld out here. Holton believed that once too, back in Italy.

_Private Patrick Holton walked through the ruins of a small town just outside Anzio. They had shelled every inch of the place to make sure there were no Germans left. Unfortunately, they had missed a few spots including a machine gun nest that overlooked the entire place. They had taken a few casualties clearing out the town but now it was relatively safe._

_He walked toward what seemed like the center of town. Almost no one was there. Most guys had gone off treasure hunting. There was a corporal there though. He was shouting in Italian at a prisoner._

_Holton had turned to look at what was left of a fountain when he heard the gunshot. He dived for cover at first, thinking there was a sniper somewhere. When he looked up, all he saw was the corporal walking in his direction, a dead German in his wake._

_"What'd you do that for?" Holton asked standing up. "He was a prisoner."_

_"Can't take them."__ He replied looking at his souvenir luger. "'Sides, you remember that injured guy we left for a few minutes? __The one with a broken foot?"_

_"Yeah."__ Holton said remembering. "We came back and he was dead."_

_The corporal looked at him with cold eyes. "Guess who __was the sick bastard that shot him__."_

If that guy deserved to die, why shouldn't this one? He had broken the rules by killing their medic. That should be punishable by death out here.

Yet, as he watched the prisoner, he could not help but feel that there was something familiar about him. Maybe it was the way he walked or stood. It did not matter which. Holton just knew he had seen that man somewhere.

Captain Miller walked over and sat next to him. They did not say anything for a while; they just watched the German dig graves.

"Almost thought we lost you." Miller said breaking the silence.

"No sir." Holton replied flicking away the cigarette. "The Germans keep forgetting I'm immortal."

Miller smiled. "You alright?"

"Except for a headache and the need to strangle something, I'm fine, sir."

The Captain stood. He was never much for long conversations except with Horvath. The only time anyone could pry a lot of words out of him was during combat or anytime that involved orders. That's why the pool started, because he was the only man who would not talk about home.

"Sir, are you really gonna go through with it?"

Miller said nothing but walked away in reply. Holton stood and followed.

By now, the German had finished digging graves and was enjoying a smoke with Upham. Something that even the most hard core rule followers Holton had seen never did. Upham almost seemed to connect with the German.

The rest of the squad moved in and surrounded the two. Their prisoner grabbed hold of Upham and began to shake him, telling him that he was sorry over and over again.

"Sir, please don't." Upham said as Miller grabbed the prisoner. "Sir!"

The squad followed Miller as he walked a few paces away. He pulled out a piece of cloth and wrapped it around the German's eyes. They got their rifles ready.

"Sir, please-″

"Upham, tell him to march a thousand paces in that direction." Miller said pointing. Holton lowered his rifle. He had expected this…unfortunately.

"Then he can take off the blindfold, we'll be gone and he turns himself in to the first Allied patrol he comes across." The rest of the squad lowered their rifles too. They looked at each other, surprise etched on their faces.

"Thank you, sir." Upham said. He led the German for the first few steps then watched him walk off.

Miller turned to the squad and answered what they were all thinking. "He's a prisoner of war, we can't shoot him… our boys will pick him up soon.

Reiben spit into the ground. "Only if he doesn't get picked up by his own wehrmacht first and then thrown back into circulation. Captain, you just let the enemy go." He said as though Miller had not realized that fact.

"Gear up. We're leaving." Reiben just stood there watching the Captain.

"You heard him." Horvath said walking over. "Gear up. The Captain just gave you an order."

Mellish, Jackson and Holton gravitated toward each other. They stood back to watch the developing fight. Reiben was sick of the mission and would not stop ranting until it got through to Miller.

"Yeah, like the one he gave to take this machine gun. That was a real doozy, wasn't it, Sarge?"

"Soldier, you are way out of line!" Horvath shouted. His words fell on deaf ears.

"Yes sir. That was one hell of a call coming to take this nest but, what the hell, we only lost one of our guys going for it." Reiben dropped his BAR and walked over to the Captain, raising his voice to make sure he would hear. "I hope Mama Ryan's real fucking happy knowing that little Jimmy's life is a little bit more important than two of our guys! But then again, we haven't found him yet, have we? Have we!"

Horvath grabbed Reiben and tossed him to the ground. "Reiben, get up. Gear up. Fall in." Reiben did stand but that's all he would do.

"I'm done with this mission." Reiben walked past Horvath and began to head down a dirt road.

Horvath looked at Miller a moment then ran after Reiben. "Don't you walk away from your Captain. Reiben get back in line!"

"This is not going to be good." Holton whispered. He knew that if any of the other guys were doing this, Horvath's reaction would not have been as severe. But it was Reiben, the one man that Holton believed Horvath truly hated. He was finally going to get his revenge on him.

Reiben turned around. "I'll spend the rest of my life in the stockade if I have to but I'm done with this."

"I'm not gonna ask you again, soldier." Horvath pulled out his pistol.

Reiben did not look surprised. "So, you're gonna shoot me now?"

Holton pushed Jackson and Mellish out of the way as he ran over to the two. He stood between them, just in front of Reiben. Miller had been out of it since Wade died, so it was up to him to make sure that Reiben did not get shot.

"Mike…what the hell are you doing?"

"He's finally getting some balls, that's what!"

Holton turned. "Reiben shut the hell up!" Reiben was actually quiet for a moment.

Horvath began to laugh. "Oh, so you'll listen to him but not the Captain."

"He's better than the Captain."

Holton sighed. "Oh geez…" He put his hands on his head. This was not working.

"Well, then listen to him and fucking fall in!"

"Nothing's gonna make me do that."

Horvath shoved Holton over and pointed the pistol closer to Reiben's head. "Then you won't mind if I shoot you!" Holton looked desperately over at Miller, hoping for a sign of life. Mellish and Upham were shouting at him, trying to get him to intervene. Jackson had pulled out his pistol and was slowly pointing it in Horvath's direction.

"You don't kill that son of a bitch Kraut. Now you're going to shoot me."

"He's better than you."

"Mike…put it down." Holton said uselessly. Nothing was going to stop him, except the Captain…or a bullet. He began to reach for his pistol.

"Then why don't you just do it, Sarge? Put one in my leg and-″

"I'm gonna shoot you in your big goddamn mouth!"

"Mike…" Holton pointed his pistol downward. He would shoot him in the foot if he had too.

"Then put you money where your mouth is and shoot me already!"

"Reiben, you are a coward son of a bitch!"

"Mike!" Holton pulled the trigger back. He began to pray for a miracle.

God would answer him this time.

Miller seemed to come to life.

"Mike, what's the pool on me up to?" All the shouting stopped and everyone looked at Miller. He just stood there, unfazed by the fact that Horvath was pointing his pistol at Reiben, and Jackson and Holton had theirs pointed at Horvath.

"What's it up to, three hundred?" He paused. "I'm a schoolteacher."

Holton's jaw dropped, as did others.

"I teach English composition in this little town called Addley, Pennsylvania. The last eleven years, I've been teaching at Thomas Alva Edison High School. I was coach of the baseball team in the spring." Holton lowered his pistol. So did Horvath and Jackson.

"People would hear about my job back home and think 'well, that just figures,' but over here… it's a big mystery." He paused and walked over to Reiben and Horvath. "I don't know anything about Ryan, I don't care. The man means nothing to me. He's just a name."

Holton put his pistol away. He began to think about his hatred for the name.

"You want to leave? You want to go off and fight the war? I won't stop you; I'll even put in the paperwork. Just know that every man I kill the farther away from home I feel."

Miller walked away. He put down his stuff and began to drag a body toward the graves. The others followed, except Reiben. He turned to walk down the road again but soon his pace slowed. He stopped and looked at the squad, then began to walk over and help.

Jackson and Holton began to bury one of the paratroopers. Holton had a little shovel while Jackson used a helmet he found.

"Hey Jackson." Holton said as he shoved some dirt in the grave. "Is that my helmet?"

Jackson looked at it. "Yeah, I think it is." He offered the helmet to Holton.

"Nah, I'll just take yours."

Upham walked past them. He nodded to Holton. "Sergeant."

"Hey, Upham." The corporal stopped. He did not think anyone would want to talk to him. "Did that German tell you where he was from?"

Upham thought for a moment. "Yeah…I think it was Landsberg."

Holton dropped the shovel.

_Patrick stood on the train platform. In a few minutes, it would take him away to New York City where he would board a ship bound for England. _

_His father had sent Christine and Amanda away. He wanted to speak with his son alone._

_He handed him a picture. "This is my family. If you ever reach __Landsberg__, look for them, tell them who you are. They can hate me forever but there is no excuse to hate a child they never met." _

_Patrick nodded and put it in his pocket._

_"I would have taken you there before. Your mother would have loved to see it again. But, then the war broke out and I knew we would never make it back." _

That is where he had seen him. That picture…in the upper right corner. It had to have been taken thirty years earlier but he looked just like that man. Perhaps it was his father… Could he be related to the man who killed their medic? The man he nearly killed?

"Holton…Holton, you alright?" Jackson asked.

Holton snapped out of his daze. "Yeah…I'm fine." He looked over at the sniper. The paratrooper's dog tag was in his hand.

"What's his name?"

Jackson squinted at the small writing. "Thomas…" He fell silent.

"Thomas what?"

Jackson looked up at him. "Thomas Ryan."

* * *

Ooo…another Ryan! Not related to James Francis Ryan though…Just thought it would be nice to throw that in. 

Yeah, Holton is FINE- Freaked out, Insecure, Neurotic, and Emotional…

Oh, and ha ha Beth…very funny.


	7. Ryan

Hey guys! I know it's been a while. School decided to give me a lot of stuff to work on this term but I managed to finally do another chapter!

It seems a little different to me. Maybe not to you but I think it's different from what I have written before. This could be for a couple reasons:

A: it has been way to long since I have written anything

B: I have seen The Departed and that has changed me somehow

C: I read the early draft of the Saving Private Ryan script (Which was **really** different and kinda messed up) and it may have affected how I typed this.

Whatever though. Hope you enjoy!

**

* * *

Chapter Seven: Ryan**

The squad walked silently through a field. No one had said a word since the day before. They had dug their foxholes silently and proceeded to sleep, or at least try to. Even Jackson had issues keeping his eyes shut.

Up front, Mellish began to whisper a song. It was one he had heard before, a favorite amongst men during depressing times. He tried to tune it out.

His mind began to wander. They would be reaching Ramelle soon, where Ryan _should_ be. Holton swore in disgust. He hoped Ryan was an asshole just so he'd have an excuse to punch him. It did not matter that he did not know they were coming. Holton could not punch the Army Chief of Staff so he'd have to set his sights lower.

Something began to hum.

This mission was going to get him killed, he knew it. 'Immortal' or not, suicide missions never had a happy ending. He thought about his father, a frail old man with only a future daughter-in-law to comfort him. Ryan knew nothing of loss.

The humming got louder and attracted Holton's attention. He began to turn in its direction.

Miller stopped him. "Halftrack! Cover!"

The squad instantly dropped in the grass. It was tall enough to hide them but just barely. Holton wished he was not so big.

They watched the halftrack crawl across the field. A couple Germans sat on top keeping a lookout for anything. Any closer and they might just see them.

An explosion went off and flames ripped through the halftrack, knocking the Germans off, dead. The halftrack, though, continued to move though much slower. Another explosion stopped it in its tracks. The squad sat up and shot at any who tried to escape. Holton watched Upham squirm below as everything took place.

He placed a hand on the corporal, who jumped. "You alright?"

"Ye…yes." Holton helped him up as the squad approached the charred vehicle. Miller started toward the other side where shots could be heard.

Jackson and Mellish looked the halftrack over. Mellish butted it slightly with his rifle. A piece of it fell off rather easily.

"It's German, alright." Jackson said as he began to climb on top of it.

"101st coming out!"

Holton walked around to see three paratroopers stand up from the grass. One carried a bazooka which, he assumed, must have taken out the halftrack.

The highest ranking paratrooper, a corporal, stepped forward. "That was a recon element, second SS. We've been expecting a probe, that must have been it." He looked at the squad. With the exception of Jackson, the rest were gathered just in front of the halftrack. "Corporal Henderson. Easy Company. 501st."

The one with the bazooka came closer. "Ryan, first of the 506th."

Ryan?

"PFC Toynbe, 3rd of the 506th."

James Francis…?

Miller stared at the young paratrooper. "James Francis Ryan?"

"Yes, sir. How'd you guess that?"

Holton nearly dropped his rifle.

* * *

The group walked through the small town of Ramelle or, at least, what was left of it. All the windows seemed blown out and every building had at least one wall missing. Most did not seem to have a roof either. Pieces of the buildings littered the streets in every direction and even blocked a few. There would be a random chair or bed frame every couple feet. The place had gone to hell and back.

Holton lingered in the rear, taking in the dismal scene. It all seemed unreal, a town being smashed to bits like this. He had seen it before but it never failed to strike him dumb.

Henderson turned to the group. "Small unit action. They came in and beat the hell out of us with 88s. Tell you what, sir, if you're our relief I'm gonna file a complaint."

Miller nodded. "I wouldn't blame you."

As Holton traced the outline of one of the more devastated buildings, his eyes fell upon Ryan. He had wanted to hate him, had wanted to walk over and tear him a new one but…now it changed. Ryan was just a kid, some naïve kid who probably did not know much about anything, including the condition of his brothers. Right now, he thinks they are alive and will see them again when this war is over. There is only one problem with this fantasy of his: the brothers are dead…and they are about to tell him that. Holton wanted to hate him. Hell, he really wanted to hate him, but he could not.

Guess he would have to punch the Army Chief of Staff.

"We're here for him." Miller said. "Ryan."

The paratrooper looked up, confused, as all eyes turned toward him. "Me, sir?"

Holton rejoined the group as Miller and Ryan headed to the bridge.

"Can I wring his neck?" Reiben whispered through clenched teeth.

"Sorry Reiben can't give you the pleasure of that." Holton replied looking at the river.

"And why the hell not?"

"He's the mission. We have to bring him home."

"Yeah, well last time I checked you weren't so keen on bringing him back either."

"Things have changed." Holton said turning around. "I mean, c'mon, look at him."

Jackson looked up from his rifle. "He's got a point, Reiben. Ryan's just a kid."

"Look, I don't give a shit if he looks like baby fucking New Year; we lost Wade and Caparzo coming after this guy. Two guys for one. Do the math; he doesn't deserve to go back."

Holton sighed. He partially agreed but had given up on fighting it.

"Well, orders are orders, Reiben. You feel like disobeying them? Fine. I'm sure Sarge has no problems relieving you of your duty." Holton motioned toward Horvath's direction. He, Mellish and Upham were a few yards away watching Miller and Ryan. "And this time we're not going to be there to save your sorry ass."

That shut Reiben up. He walked a few paces away and sat on some sandbags.

"Little harsh, weren't you?" Jackson took off his helmet.

"The truth hurts, Jackson. Besides, I'm sick of his attitude."

"Ryan brings out the worst in people."

"Yep."

Holton and Jackson watched the conversation on the bridge. They saw Ryan stumble slightly and grow pale.

He knew.

Miller turned back to the group. "Corporal Henderson, I don't mean to leave you even more short-handed but we have to take him back. Any communication about when you're going to be relieved up here?"

"Sir, there's no way to tell. We have no idea what's happening south of us."

Ryan took his eyes off the ground and his skin seemed to regain some color. "I have my orders, too, sir. They don't include me abandoning my post."

Miller looked back at Ryan. "I understand but this changes things."

"I don't see that it does, sir."

Holton snorted. "Figures we get a foolhardy one."

Henderson seemed concerned. "Sir, our orders are to hold this bridge at all costs. Our planes in the 82nd have taken out every bridge across the Merderet River with the exception of two: one at Valognes and this one here. We let the Germans take them, we'll lose our foothold and have to displace."

"Corporal, we're just here for Ryan." Horvath said stepping into the conversation. "We're not asking all of you to leave."

Ryan looked stunned. He could not believe what he was hearing. "Sir, I can't leave until at least reinforcements-″

Miller cut him off. "You got three minutes to gather your gear."

"Sir, what about them? There's barely enough-″

"Hey asshole!" This time it was Reiben. "Two of our guys already died trying to find you, all right?"

Ryan looked at Miller who merely nodded. He turned back. "What were their names?"

"Irwin Wade and Adrian Caparzo." Mellish replied.

"Wade and…?"

Holton crossed his arms. "Adrian Caparzo. Big guy, loved cigarettes."

Ryan turned from the group as though considering. Holton relaxed slightly. Maybe they would be able to get out of here after all.

"It doesn't make any sense, sir. Why? Why do I deserve to go? Why not any of these guys? They all fought just as hard as me!"

Maybe not.

Miller sighed. He was trying hard not to yell at the stubborn private. "Is that what they're supposed to tell your mother when they send her another folded American flag?"

"Tell her that when you found me, I was here with the only brothers I have left, and that there's no way I was going to desert them. I think she'll understand that." He began to walk over to the other paratroopers. "There's no way I'm leaving this bridge." Ryan sat down near some sandbags and put his head down. Nothing was going to move him now. His fellow paratroopers gathered around him trying to offer some comfort.

Holton thought Miller would explode or, at least, appear angry. That did not happen. The Captain simply nodded again, considering all the boy had said.

* * *

Jackson and Holton leaned against the bridge watching the paratrooper grieve his brothers. Reiben and Mellish were some ways off probably ranting about how they should have never come, though it was likely Reiben doing most of it. Miller and Horvath had walked to the other side of the bridge a while back and were still there, talking. Upham just stood back and eyed everyone nervously. He did not know what to expect from the two groups now.

Holton had taken off his helmet. He tried to light a cigarette with a lighter that was long dead.

"Maybe you should talk to him." Jackson said looking over at the sergeant.

Holton gave up and tossed the cigarette aside. "The Captain couldn't even get through to him. What makes you think that I'll do any better?"

"I don't know. Why don't you come up with one of those big, inspiring speeches I heard you give before? That seems to work."

"Maybe I don't want to."

"Whatever happened to 'he's the mission, we have to bring him home?'"

"I lied."

Jackson nodded, thinking. "Alright, plan B. You're a big guy. You can just waltz over there and drag his ass back to the beach."

Holton smiled. "I dunno, Jackson, I might lose something important along the way."

"Plan C: Reiben can beat him up first and _then_ you can drag his ass back to the beach." The two laughed a little but it did not last long.

Holton sighed. "Too bad we can't actually do that." He paused looking at the paratrooper. The Germans could not be far away and there would be no way to stop them. They would come down on the city with several tanks and probably every type of weapon they had. Even with a decent sized group, the fight would be hard, if not hopeless.

"Are you willing to die for him, Jackson?" His friend took a while to reply.

He sighed as well. "I'm not willing to die for a lost cause." Holton took that as a 'no.'

"Right then…" Holton put down his rifle and headed toward the gathered paratroopers. They parted like the Red Sea as he walked past. The sergeant was an intimidating guy. He was a couple inches taller than most of them at least, and much stronger. That is what he believed made him a good leader, no one wanted to fight him.

Holton sat across from the grieving paratrooper and took a moment to think. He was never good at the whole comforting thing; he mostly tried to avoid that with his men. Of course, he was not here to comfort but to convince.

"We really need to get you back, Ryan."

_Great beginning to your inspiring speech. _Holton thought to himself.

The private looked up at him and sniffed. It was obvious he had been crying. "Did you not hear a thing I said back there?"

"I heard it and understand but that does not make a difference. Try to understand where we're coming from, private."

Ryan was silent a moment. "You're trying to finish a mission that's a little harder than you bargained for. You lost a couple guys along the way and don't want them to die for nothing. But here's what you need to understand: I've got a mission too. We've got to protect this bridge. A lot of guys have died for this and I am not about to let them die for nothing either." While his logic seemed sound, his stubbornness was starting to get to Holton.

"Let me ask you something: what have you guys got?" The irritation in his voice was rising. "A couple machine guns, a bazooka, mortar rounds, maybe?" Ryan shook his head. "Okay, no mortars. What do the Germans have? Armor certainly, every big gun imaginable and, most importantly, reinforcements."

"What do you expect us to do? Just drop everything and give the bridge to the Germans?" Ryan was equally irritated. The best that this argument could end in was a stalemate. Both sides had a good point and neither was going to back down.

"I see you guys got the bridge wired. Why don't you just blow it up? Problem solved. Germans don't get it and we can get you home."

Another paratrooper joined the argument. "We can't do that, sergeant. Blowing up the bridge is a last resort."

"How is anyone going to know? Stay here, you'll just end up blowing it up anyway minus a few men."

"Is that how we're supposed to do it?" Ryan asked. "When times get hard, run away and make it more difficult for your side to get any closer to victory? We need this bridge."

"Look, you don't understand-″ Holton tried to explain himself but Ryan jumped up from his seat and cut him off.

"What's there to understand?" Ryan's voice was filled with anger. He was sick of having to explain himself to everyone. "Get a mission, complete it. This one seems to be a little more important than bringing me home. Then again, I don't understand because I'm dumb, right? Well, if I'm so dumb, why should I care that you're here? Why should I care that-″

Holton now leapt up from his seat. "Because at least someone came for you!" His voice was loud and echoed over the entire town. Any conversations that had been occurring ceased. Even Miller and Horvath, on the other side of the bridge, looked in Holton's direction.

Ryan staggered back a bit. The sergeant's actions had taken him by surprise, even scared him a little.

"You're not the only one who's lost brothers!" Holton could not control his anger now. He was doing all he could not to punch Ryan. For a long time, he had bottled up all these emotions and now he was about to take it out on the private. "Lost one in Guadalcanal and another in Sicily. I've got a sister but, hell, London gets bombed so much let's just assume she's dead. Maybe she's not but when I die, you think anyone's gonna come looking for her?" He paused, waiting for any kind of reply from Ryan. The paratrooper shook his head slightly. "There have been a million guys like you but the Army decided that you're the lucky one. I've never cared for this mission but I'm going to do it and I'm telling you now I am not going to die for a stupid, little private who doesn't give a shit."

Holton walked closer to Ryan and spoke low so only he could hear. "When you get back, how 'bout you go visit my dad and tell him why none of his sons are coming home…even better yet, maybe we'll both die, then our parents can grieve all seven of us together."

Without another sound, Holton walked away from the group toward the destroyed buildings. He needed to be alone, away from everything and everyone…especially Ryan.

During the argument, Reiben had gravitated toward Jackson. He now stood, open-mouthed, completely surprised by what he just saw. Jackson, on the other hand, looked calm as usual and seemed unaffected by Holton's actions. He looked at Reiben who seemed ready to say something.

"Reiben, you say a word and I will permanently shut that mouth of yours."

* * *

Well, there it is. I'll update soon. Happy Easter!


	8. Sanity

Hey! Long time no hear! Sorry I haven't updated recently, I've been under the weather. It's allergy season and it is hitting me hard. Plus, I've got the most horrible case of writter's block. This chapter is a little shorter than the others but very, very important. It gives you a nice look at Holton's character. Enjoy!

**Chapter Eight: Sanity**

Holton sat amongst the debris in a little alleyway. It was so small he could almost touch the other side. He stared at the spot where his fist had collided with the wall. It was still red from the blood.

He lifted his left fist. The knuckles were split open and he probably cracked some bones. It did not matter; he did not care.

There were marks on his face where tears had tried to clean up the dirt. Holton could not remember the last time he cried, it was probably when his mother died. He had no idea why there were tears. Feeling sorry for himself, he figured.

Michael had died in July 1942. Charlie was still home when they got the news. His death was a shock to the family, as if it could be anything less. Christine barricaded herself in her room for days and his father refused to leave the porch. All he did was stare at the distant fields. He and Charlie were left to care for the farm. It was the only thing that they could do to keep their minds off of it. When the work was done, they would find themselves sitting in the barn watching the tire swing that Michael had put up, hoping to see their big brother run up and jump on it.

They never had been that lucky.

Charlie died in 1943, just two days before the anniversary of Michael's death. It was an extra blow for the family. Holton had not been at home; he was in England when he got the news. The commanding officer, feeling sorry for him, offered Holton a couple days R&R, even a pass to London. Holton refused the offer, knowing the training would keep his mind off of the fact he was now his father's only son.

When Christine came to London to be a nurse, Holton was furious. He tracked her down and demanded that she go home. But his sister was as stubborn as he was, so he got nowhere.

But why had he punched the wall? Holton found that he did not know why he had. Was he so sick of the situation that he had to get his anger out somehow, and instead of taking it out on Ryan, he chose a wall instead? Maybe that was it but it did not seem so. No, there was something else to it.

He looked at his beaten fist again. The hand pulsed but there was no pain. Was he trying to feel pain?

'Pain means you're alive.' That is what he had always said to injured men, at least, to the less serious ones. Had he been trying to convince himself that he was still alive?

That was it. That was the answer he was looking for. He did not feel alive. That person who practically attacked Ryan back there…that was not him. The old Sergeant Patrick Holton would have never done that. He had prided himself on not acting like that, not becoming, he hated to say, a Reiben. But ever since this mission had begun, he had felt different. Hatred constantly pulsed through his body as he thought of Ryan being able to go home. Holton did not wish to return but it made him angry all the same. If Reiben had walked away that day, Holton believed he would have joined him.

_Theirs not to reason why, theirs but to do and die. _Upham's little saying rose up again. That sentence had been Holton's standard but that changed, everything had.

Maybe war had changed him after all.

Holton was so absorbed in his thoughts, he did not notice someone watching him.

Captain Miller watched the young sergeant silently, trying to figure out where what he had just seen came from. He had watched from the other side of the bridge as Holton tore Ryan a new one. He had been shouting so loud that Miller could make out most of it. He had not expected this from him. Hell, Jackson or Upham freaking out would have made more sense to him, but not Holton. He had always been the calm one, one he could always rely on. Of course, they all had been acting different lately.

Holton turned his head. Their eyes locked a moment before he resumed his staring at the wall. Miller looked at the wall and saw the blood, and then he saw his hand. It looked pretty bad. Most boys would have been screaming in pain but Holton acted as though it was not even there.

"You ever feel like you're losing it, sir?" The tone of Holton's voice caught Miller off guard. He sounded hopeless, sounded dead.

Miller glanced at his own hand quickly. "You're not going crazy, Holton."

"You didn't answer my question…sir."

The truth was: he did not really know how to answer it. "Well, uh…sometimes I feel like everything is getting out of control, yeah."

Holton smiled slightly as though thinking of a memory long gone. "Out of control? Things have been feeling like that since day one. Course, I was pretty good at bottling it up…it should have stayed that way."

Miller stepped closer, slightly appalled at what he was hearing. "No one blames you for what you did, Holton. These things happen sometimes."

"Even to you?"

"Yeah…even to me."

Holton was quiet for a moment, thinking. "I understand, sir, but…I blame myself. I should have known better than to yell at him. I let my emotions get in the way…I let my fear get in the way."

Miller knew where this was going. "Sergeant, you are not a coward."

Holton smiled again, even laughed a little. "I appreciate the compliment, Captain, I really do, but that is where you are wrong. I was just thinking about myself out there, trying to save my ass. I can make up excuses saying that I don't want my sister to end up just like Ryan but…I'm just covering up the fact that I don't want to die."

"Well, Holton, I'm sorry to disappoint you but none of us want to die."

"Yeah, but…shit, Captain." Holton took his eyes off the wall and looked at Miller again. "I actually suggested that we just blow up the bridge and high-tail it out of here. Now, I know that's not what we're supposed to do but I said it anyway. If that's not a coward's way out, I don't know what-″

"Now you listen to me, Sergeant." Miller's voice became stern as Holton resumed his staring at the wall. He was losing him. Hopefully becoming a Captain again would stir something in the boy. "You are not a coward. I was there when you saved that boy back in Italy. Hell, you should know because I was the one who recommended you for your Silver Star. You remember it?"

"Of course I remember, sir." His voice sounded distant again.

"Exactly, machine gun fire everywhere and one little private stranded in the middle of it. You nearly got yourself shot up getting him back to cover. I would have recommended you for a higher medal but you begged me not to, didn't want the glory that came with it."

Holton nodded, indicating he had heard the Captain.

Miller kneeled down next to him. "That there was not the action of a coward. That is what some would call the action of a hero. I prefer the term 'good soldier.' Now a soldier like that never becomes a coward. Yes, I said 'never,' because there is something inside of him that will not allow the fear to take over… What you said back there was a mere slip of the tongue, confusion in a time of chaos, nothing more. And the fact that you hate yourself because of it is proof. Now look at me." Holton continued to stare at the wall. "Look at me, Patrick!"

Holton jumped slightly from the surprise of his first name being used by someone else. He turned and faced the Captain once more.

"You are not a coward and never have been. God strike me down if I'm lying. Now you stand up and quit feeling sorry for yourself because right now you are the most pathetic thing I have ever seen." He saw Holton smile but it was not because he remembered something. He thought what Miller had said was actually funny. The old Holton was returning.

Holton nodded and, with the help of Miller, stood. He wiped his face off and looked at him.

"Thank you, sir."

Miller nodded, and then looked at Holton's hand again. "You should have that checked out."

"No, sir, that's okay. I'll be fine." More normalcies returned to the sergeant.

"Alright then." Miller sighed. "Now we have to think about what we're going to do." He began to walk away, not wanting to linger on the past subject. The Germans would not wait and they both knew it. "They don't have much."

Holton thought about it a minute. An idea hit him.

"Sir?" Miller turned back around. "You remember sticky bombs?"

A smile crossed Miller's face.

* * *

Hope you liked it! Please keep reviewing, it helps me write faster.


	9. Await

Hello! Here's another update.

**Hansolo18- Thanks for the great reviews!!**

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Chapter Nine: Await

It was official, they were staying. Holton had known this from the beginning but he let himself believe that there had been a chance that they would leave after all. Unwilling to face the group, he sat by the bridge and watched Miller describe the plan they had come up with. Even from such a distance away, Holton could see the look of disappointment on Reiben's face that nearly matched his own. He did not say anything though, lest he find another pistol shoved in his face. The others nodded, impassive, accepting what they were told.

The plan: lure a tank down their street and knock out its tracks using the infamous "sticky bombs," which were basically socks that would explode. Stick them to a tank and watch them do their work. They would move the machine guns to new positions then hunker down and wait. If luck was with them, they could hold out until the infantry boys broke through; if it was not, the idea was to fall back to the bridge and blow it up. Holton had never been lucky so he was pretty certain that the latter of the two would be the outcome of the battle.

He watched the group walk over to the bridge. Most of the men ignored him except Ryan. Holton caught an occasional glimpse from the private who tried to act casual about the situation. It almost made Holton laugh. He knew he would have to talk to the boy, try to reconcile with him or, at least, show him that he did not want to tear his head off anymore. Whichever was easier to do.

Reiben sat down next to Holton as the others went off to begin the defense preparations. He did not say anything for a while; he just stared at the river. Holton waited.

"So, we're supposed to lure this tank down the street with that motorbike back there, is that it?"

"Yep."

"Who's going?"

Holton turned to him. "The two most suicidal bastards here."

Reiben sighed, finally accepting what he had to do. "Alright, but you're driving."

"I figured as much." Holton stood up. He was not really sure where he was going but he needed to feel useful somehow. Just sitting around never felt right to him.

"Hey, Red?" Holton turned around. "Were you actually going to shoot him?" Reiben, of course, was referring to the little incident following Wade's death.

Holton did not answer.

. . .

Waiting. Holton hated it. It gave men too much time to think about the battle ahead, too much time to reconsider what they are about to do. He had seen enough men become unhinged from waiting; that was the last thing they needed now. Yet, here they were, waiting and here he was, thinking about the battle ahead.

He was sitting up in the bell tower of a church along with Jackson. They had placed one of the machine guns up there. The paratrooper who was supposed to fire it, Parker, was on the ground getting ammo or something. Holton did not know nor did he care. There was a decent view of Ramelle from up there. It had been a fairly good sized city at one point in time. Now it was just rubble. He could see the full extent of the German damage to the city. At least half of the buildings were completely demolished. The rest had some damage but could be salvaged. There was one building, though, that was left untouched. It was on the other side of the river, in the middle of buildings that looked about ready to collapse. He smiled at the thought of the owners of that place returning home.

Holton looked down from the tower. People down below looked very small, not the size of ants but close enough. It reminded him of something.

"I hate heights." He mumbled, backing away from the edge.

Jackson laughed slightly. "That's ironic." He was comfortably positioned on the ledge of the tower with one leg dangling out. Clearly he had no issues with how far away the ground was.

"Since when do you know what ironic means?" Holton asked laughing as well.

"Since that walking dictionary joined us." Jackson pointed down below with his rifle. They both watched Upham as he trailed after Mellish. Every step he took was skittish and uncertain, and the battle had not even started. It worried Jackson. "The boy should be behind a desk, not out here. He's not meant for combat."

"Yeah, well he'll see plenty today."

Jackson lit a cigarette. "Well, I don't know about you, Holton, but I don't expect to be seeing that corporal around much."

Holton took another look at Upham down below. "You're probably right." He pulled out a cigarette and motioned to Jackson that he wanted his lighter.

"Don't drop it."

"What would you do, shoot me?" Holton asked as he caught the lighter.

"Maybe."

Holton lit his cigarette and smiled. "Amanda would kill me if she saw me smoking." He looked over the surroundings, thinking. "Guess I'll have to quit before all this is over."

A silence fell between the two. It was not awkward like for two people who had run out of things to say for each had about a million thoughts to spill but none were important enough. On the eve of a great battle with the mind lingering on death, nothing is. So the men fell into their own thoughts. Of home, family, the war…none could be certain for their eyes bore no emotion.

Jackson grabbed something from under his shirt. He pulled out his dog tags, ripped one off and tossed it to Holton who barely had enough time to catch it.

"What's this?" he asked before looking at it. Holton's eyes widen slightly when he did.

Jackson put down his rifle and crossed his arms. "Just in case."

Holton looked up at him. "I'm not taking this." He tossed it back. "Not letting you think you're going to die."

"Bullshit, I know you're thinking it too." Jackson got off the ledge and tossed the tag over again. "Now I know, and you know, that if anyone is going to die from this, it's me."

Holton opened his mouth to object but shut it again. Unfortunately, Jackson was right. A sniper in a bell tower, once found, was a perfect target for a tank.

"Fine, but don't do anything stupid." Holton put the tag in his pocket. "No one likes a hero."

"People seem to like the Captain."

"He's an officer. We're supposed to 'like' him."

"Fair enough." Jackson paused. "How about you then?" Holton looked away toward the city again. This was not a subject that he liked to talk about to anyone. "Because last I checked, plenty of guys like you and I can guarantee that they don't have to."

Holton sighed. "What makes you think I'm a hero?"

"I might have overheard something that Miller said. Mind explaining the Silver Star to me?" Jackson leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms. He was not going anywhere.

He looked over at Jackson. "What exactly did you hear?"

"Something about machine guns and a stranded private and you nearly dying." Holton nodded. It was just the basics, no detail involved. There was a lot more to the story that Jackson did not know, not even the Captain knew the whole thing.

"Seeing as how I have no choice," Holton began. "I might as well tell it to you but no one else needs to hear this, okay?" Jackson nodded. "It was back in August, I think. Didn't exactly have a calendar available at the front line. We were stuck in some city in Italy, go figure which one, they become interchangeable after a while…"

_

* * *

_

Corporal Holton leaned against the wall of a bombed out building. That was all there was: walls. The buildings had no roofs or windows or floors. They were just crumbling pieces of brick that the machine guns threatened to knock down at any second. It was their only cover until they made it back to the trenches which required a run of several yards over an open field well within the range of bullets.

_The newly promoted Captain Miller was shouting coordinates over the radio. If they could not do their job, the howitzers would. He only hoped that the boys would actually hit their targets this time._

_Holton had just joined the company a few days ago and the NCOs already hated him. They knew he was not some green replacement but there was just something about him that they could not stand. Maybe it was because Miller liked him or that he had personally chosen Holton to join the group, or maybe it was because the Italian women could not get enough of him. Either way, the men did not like him and did everything they could to make him feel excluded. _

_Miller threw down the radio. "Alright, we're going to have some artillery coming in! We've got five minutes to get to cover! It's about fifty yards to the nearest trench so move fast and don't stop! If we're lucky, it'll provide us some cover!"_

"_If we're lucky?" One of the privates gulped._

"_You heard me!" The word was passed around quick. When Miller gave the signal, the company would pull back from the city and wait for the fireworks from the relative safety of a trench, if they made it there._

_Miller blew a whistle he had. All at once, boys began to pile out of the building remains into the open field. Many were knocked down instantly but the majority made it to the other side, diving into the trench. Holton, along with a couple others, tripped near the edge and had to roll into the trench, each landing in a thick pile of mud. He, as well as the rest of the men, hated trenches but right now, they were not going to complain about it._

_Once in the trench, Miller looked up at the results. He counted about fifteen boys dead in the field. The Germans had bad aim today._

_He began to call off names._

"_Tomlinson!"_

"_Here, sir!_

"_Simmons!"_

"_Sir!"_

"_Granger!"_

"_He's in the field!" There went another radio man._

"_Holton!"_

"_Here, sir!" _

_One of the NCOs looked over at his friend. "Unfortunately." Holton heard but chose to ignore him. He did not care about what they thought of him._

"_Ramirez!" There was silence. "Ramirez!...Dead." Miller was about to move on when another private came over._

"_He's in the building, sir!" He said with a small voice similar to that of Upham's._

"_He's what?"_

"_Ramirez is in the building! He wouldn't move." Miller grabbed the private's collar and seemed ready to choke him._

"_Then why didn't you grab him?" He would have continued but someone's shout distracted him._

"_Shit! Holton's gone!"_

"_The crazy bastard, cover him!"_

_Miller dropped the private and looked over the edge of the trench. The corporal had indeed leapt out of the trench and was now sprinting down the field._

_Holton did not know what had possessed him but before he knew it, he had jumped out of the trench and began to run down the field. One lone guy amongst three machine guns, he thought for certain that he would be hit but that never did happen. He dived headfirst into a building and landed next to the private he was looking for._

_Ramirez was huddled in a corner, eyes darting back and forth wide in terror, clutching his rifle for dear life. Holton crawled over to him and sat up._

"_Ramirez, what the hell are you doing? We've got artillery coming in! You need to get to cover!"_

"_I…I can't…I'll get hit."_

"_You're going to get hit if you stay here!"_

"_Maybe…maybe not."_

"_There ain't no maybes here, Private!"_

"_I'm not going!" Ramirez said, determined. "I don't want to get shot!"_

"_I don't give a shit about what you want!" Holton shouted so loud that he nearly drowned out the machine guns. "No one does and no one gives a shit if you get hit unless it's on their watch, and right now, you're on mine so move!" He grabbed the private and tossed him out of the building in one swift move. Once Ramirez hit the ground, he instantly began to run for the trench followed closely by Holton. The machine guns still managed not to hit them. The Germans did have bad aim that day._

_Ramirez stopped short of the trench and stood there._

"_In!" Holton shouted, pushing the private into the trench. He jumped in as well, hit the ground hard and decided to stay there until his lungs had caught up with him. _

_It was at this moment that the artillery started coming down._

_About a month after that, he got a promotion to sergeant, a Silver Star and the respect of all the men in the company. It was this Holton that Jackson, and most other men, got to know him as._

* * *

Jackson sat there, eyes slightly wider than usual, thinking.

"Shit…and you yell at me when I do something half as crazy."

Holton nodded, looking rather solemn. He continued as though uninterrupted. "Thing was, Ramirez was killed the next day. Sniper got him. Not even sure the Captain noticed."

"Kinda makes me wonder if that boy from the beach is still alive." It was now that their attention turned to the wide eyed Parker. He had snuck in about halfway through the story. "Shut your mouth, Parker. You're drooling." The two got in a few laughs before they were silenced by a loud screeching sound. It sounded big and metallic. They did not need to look; they knew what it was.

Waiting was over; the battle had come.

* * *

I find it so entertaining that as I look back on what I've read, it slowly gets better and you can see the improvement. It's hilarious really.

Happy Cinco de Mayo!


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